His Mission

Lulu's coffee shop.

I wake up the next morning to find Jake is nowhere to be seen. If it wasn't for the stuffed animal perched on my bedside table and his scent lingering in the sheets, I'd think I dreamt the whole night with him. A flutter fills my stomach when I replay the night from start to finish. Everything about it was perfect; from sneaking in through my bedroom window to talking for hours about my father. I'm not ashamed to admit it was the best night I'd had in a long time.

I leave the house before Trevor or Mom have the chance to wake up. Despite sleeping for almost two days, I'm exhausted. Every step I take feels like I'm using all of my effort and strength. I wake through the cold streets, heading in the direction of my favorite coffee shop. It's the only place open early enough for me to hide out in. The scent of warm coffee and freshly baked pastries wafts through the air as soon as I turn the corner. Lulu's coffee shop is my little safe haven away from home. It's filled with fond memories of Saturday morning breakfast with me and Dad. He'd always order the maple pancakes, and I'd go for the chocolate and strawberry kind. We'd sit in the booth away from everybody else, situated next to the window.

I walk through the door of the coffee shop before heading for the same booth. I pass Marjorie along the way, and I shoot her a weak smile.

"Good morning, Marjorie." I wave. She's the owner of Lulu's coffee shop, and she's the heart and soul of the business. Her grey hair is secured neatly in a ponytail, and she's whipping up batches of fresh vanilla cupcakes for the morning rush ahead.

"Hello, dear. Would you like the usual?" Marjorie asks me. I yawn behind my hand before nodding my head in response. "Yes please, but with an extra shot of coffee. I'm going to need it."

"Take a seat, and I'll bring it over to you." Marjorie smiles.

"Thanks, Marjorie."

The interior inside Lulu's shop has never changed. The brown leather sofa's line one side, with the booths running along the other. Pictures of Lulu's history line the walls. I slide into the right side of the booth, just like I've done ever since I was younger. An empty hollow feeling appears in my chest when I realise Dad will never sit across from me ever again.

The scent of warm coffee beans floods the air, and my stomach rumbles loudly in protest. I can't remember the last time I ate. I bury my face in my hands before taking slow deep breaths. Each day feels like groundhog day all over again. I feel like I'm trapped in a horror movie, reliving the same pain until it drives me crazy. I pull out my phone before shooting Trish a good morning text —

Rise and shine. I'm at Lulu's cafe if you want a strong coffee before dealing with Mrs Wilkins for the day.

My phone buzzes seconds later with a response.

Urgh, yes. Coffee is needed. She's killing me with all of the extra homework. I'll be there in twenty minutes.

I drop my phone to the table before staring out of the window. It's raining lightly outside, and I watch as the rain droplets slide down the glass. My finger reaches out to follow the journey of a rain droplet smaller than the others. It slides down the glass slowly, and I follow it until it lands at the bottom.

"Here you go, dear. The cupcake is on the house," Marjorie tells me, sliding a tray onto the table. My face lights up when I take in the pancakes, the vanilla cupcake and the mug of freshly brewed coffee in front of me. I reach for the cutlery before she has a chance to walk away. "Thank you, this looks incredible." I gush before digging in. I slide a forkful of pancakes into my mouth before groaning with delight.

"It's so good. You're truly talented, Marjorie." I compliment her before holding my thumb up. Marjorie beams from ear to ear before heading back to work behind the counter. When I'm halfway through my breakfast, I notice my phone light up with a new message. I figure it's Trish, but the number isn't saved in my contacts. A deep frown takes over my face, and I slowly place down my knife and fork when I read the first message.